


Catharsis

by castiowl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bucky Barnes Feels, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Matchmaker Sam Wilson, Meet-Cute, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Therapy, Tumblr Prompt, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:55:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a man sitting on the floor of Bed Bath & Beyond, clutching a stack of seasonal dish towels with smiling jack-o-lanterns on them, and sobbing.</p><p>“Oh, um, sorry,” Steve says. The man doesn’t look up, just clutches the towels tighter and sniffles. “Are you okay,  man?” Steve asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

“I actually remembered to bring it this time, thank you very much,” Steve says into the cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He brandishes the 20% off coupon in his hand as if Sam could see it through the phone. “Have a little faith.”

“My faith died when you forgot to bring it the last _four times_ I sent you out to buy plates, Steve,” Sam says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll see you later.”

He hangs up the phone and sticks it in his pocket. He winds his way through Bed Bath & Beyond, trying to stay focused like a horse with blinders because given half an opportunity, he will convince himself he needs a Nutribullet or a pair of salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls.

He makes it to the kitchenware section without a hitch. “Okay,” he mutters to himself. “I need… white, dishwasher safe, not easily breakable.” 

It’s a miracle, frankly, that they made it a year with the first set they owned. They were fine china, a gift from Sam’s mother, and now half of them were shattered. The other half Sam had haughtily wrapped up and put into storage, demanding Steve go buy them “real plates” which, okay, so Steve was technically the cause of many – if not all – of the broken fine china plates. 

Steve crouches down to pull a box of promisingly sturdy-looking plates off the bottom shelf when he hears something. It sounds like… crying. No, _hysteric_ crying.

Steve pushes the box back on the shelf, straightens up, and walks around the corner. He stops short when he sees a man sitting on the floor, clutching a stack of seasonal dish towels with smiling jack-o-lanterns on them, and sobbing.

“Oh, um, sorry,” Steve says. He feels his face heat up, embarrassed to have stumbled upon… whatever this is. The man doesn’t look up, just clutches the towels tighter and sniffles. “Are you, uh, are you okay, man?” Steve asks.

The man finally realizes he has an audience and glances up at Steve. He blinks a few times, wiping at his red, puffy eyes fruitlessly. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice wavering.

Steve crouches down next to him. “You sure? You need me to call someone?”

That must shake the guy out of his stupor as he slowly stands, shaking his head. Steve stands up, too, and watches as the man puts the dishtowels back. “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Steve says slowly. “Well, um, feel better.”

  


* * *

  


Steve calls Sam as soon as he’s in his car and recounts his run-in with the hysterically crying man. Sam says, “Huh,” sounding slightly bored. Not the reaction Steve is expecting. Then again, Sam works for the VA, so he probably sees shit like that all the time.

However, it doesn’t explain why Sam wants to know what the guy looked like. Or why he won’t explain his laughter after Steve tells him.

  


* * *

  


Steve hasn’t been to the mall in years. He does most of his shopping online since he’s so small he tends to shop in the teen section; he prefers to do so without being in plain sight of cute employees and side-eyeing mothers with their 15-year-old, hipster sons.

But he has to find a gift for Sam’s birthday and he’s been waxing poetic about these running shoes. He even went so far as to text Steve his shoe size and mention there’s a sale on today; subtlety is not his strong suit. 

Steve readjusts the shopping bag hanging from his hand and squints up at the Thai menu board. He’s in the mall, so he may as well partake in a disgusting food court lunch. It’s crowded, even for a Saturday, and there’s a few people in front of him. The guy at the very front is handed his food and the line moves up. Steve finally decides on a panang curry when the man stumbles slightly and his plate of food drops unceremoniously to the floor. He bursts into tears.

Steve steps out of line, hands held out to placate the crying man. The guy looks up and looks taken aback at Steve’s presence. “You again,” he says, voice low and shaky. “Jesus Christ.”

Steve frowns. He sounds _angry_. 

“Look,” Steve snaps, “I’m not the one crying over spilled noodles in a crowded mall.” He scoffs and turns on his heel, marching toward the exit. 

He makes it to his car, stewing in irritation, and fumbles with his keys. A hand touches his shoulder, he yelps, and drops his keys. He turns, coming face-to-face with the crying man. Only, he’s not crying anymore. He looks upset, but his eyes are clear and bright and very, very blue.

“Sorry,” he says. “I tried to call after you, but you looked pretty, um, angry, I guess. And you didn’t hear me.”

Steve swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he says. They’re uncomfortably close, which the man must realize as he takes a step back. Then, he bends down and picks up Steve’s keys.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I wasn’t angry. Back there.” He hands Steve his keys and shoves his hands into his pockets. The movement of his left arm looks stiff, but Steve can’t stare for long.

“You probably think I’m a fuckin’ nutjob,” the man continues, smiling self-deprecatingly. It’s a good look, Steve decides. “But it’s not what you think. I don’t just cry all the time.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” the man amends, “recently, I’ve been crying a lot, but that’s just because my therapist. I mean-,” he blushes a deep pink at the admission, “I’m a vet, see?” He moves his left arm and pulls back the sleeve to reveal a metal prosthetic. “And my therapist, he told me I gotta work on expressing myself whenever I feel anything. So I’ve been a little weepy lately.”

“Weepy,” Steve repeats.

The man smiles and as Steve mirrors his expression, he starts laughing. “Yeah okay,” he admits, “a little more than weepy. I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I feel like an asshole now,” Steve says. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He holds out his hand. 

The man takes it. His grip is firm and warm. “Bucky. And don’t feel like an asshole. You’re the only person who’s ever offered to help me.”

Steve frowns slightly. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugs. “Most people just look the other way. A grown man crying in a grocery store clearly has some issues.”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry. And I hope the next time we run into each other, I’m not a hysterical mess.”

Steve laughs. Bucky turns to walk back to the mall. Steve hesitates, then calls out: “Bucky, wait!”

Bucky turns, eyebrows raised and walks back toward Steve. “Yeah?” he asks.

“This therapist of yours, he a good guy?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?”

“Think he’d mind if I asked you on a date?”

Bucky’s shocked expression quickly breaks into a wide grin. “I think that’d be okay. I’ve got an appointment tonight so I can ask.”

“Oh yeah? Tell him Steve says he’s an asshole.”

  


* * *

  


Steve picks up takeout Chinese and situates himself in the quiet waiting room outside of Sam’s office at the VA. Five minutes later, the door opens and Sam steps out, followed by Bucky who’s chatting animatedly about some TV show.

Sam takes one look at Steve and bursts into laughter, cutting off Bucky. Bucky looks up, confused, and spots Steve. His mouth hangs open for a moment. “I don’t…,” he trails off.

“Did you tell him he’s an asshole?” Steve asks.

Sam is still laughing. He finally chokes out: “I just can’t believe it worked!” 

“I’m missing something,” Bucky says, looking from Sam to Steve and back again.

“Sam thinks he’s clever, playing matchmaker.”

“You know Sam?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

“Yeah, he’s my roommate. _Ex_ -roommate,” Steve corrects pointedly. 

“Aw, Steve, don’t be like that,” Sam says with a big grin. “You know how difficult it was to set all this up? I tried to make you guys meet at least 15 times before it worked.”

“You wanted us to meet?” Bucky asks.

“Patient-doctor confidentiality said I couldn’t tell Steve about you, and mixing personal and work meant I couldn’t tell you about Steve, so I figured if you guys met organically…”

Steve rolls his eyes, stands up, and walks up to Bucky. He proffers the takeout bag which Bucky takes, still looking as confused as ever. 

“Well, joke’s on you Sam. We’re going to eat dinner in the park and you have to scrounge up leftovers. I hope you’re happy.”

Steve nudges Bucky to start walking and they make their way toward the door.

“I couldn’t be happier!” Sam shouts after them.

  


* * *

  


“So you and Sam are roommates,” Bucky says slowly. He drops the final, empty takeout container back into the paper bag by their feet. He leans back, putting his arm across the back of the bench.

Steve shivers at the near-contact. “Yeah. I can’t believe this. I guess it just shows how predictable I am.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at that and Steve shrugs. “I’m always, y’know, helping people? I don’t know. Sam says it’s weird or abnormal or whatever that I go out of my way. But it’s what anyone would do.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s not. I told you no one else ever stopped to help me. Just you. He must’ve known. I told him I tended to, um, overreact to things lately. As you could probably tell.”

Steve laughs and Bucky smiles at him. “Steve?” he says after a beat.

“Hm?”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Steve feels his face heat up. He nods. “Okay,” he says. 

Bucky presses his lips against Steve’s. It’s chaste and quick and still leaves Steve’s heart going a mile a minute. Steve’s not sure what his face looks like, but whatever it is, it makes Bucky smile and huff out a laugh.

Steve swallows and looks into Bucky’s eyes. They’re mere inches apart and Steve can see the flecks of green and brown this close. “I like that much more than the crying,” Steve says. He presses his thumb against Bucky’s bottom lip. 

Bucky smiles again. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says and leans in to kiss Steve again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Steve/Bucky AU collection I'm writing with [camwolfe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe)! [Check 'em out!](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StuckyAUs)
> 
> Based on two AUs: "i'm having a minor breakdown in the middle of bed bath and beyond and you're a bewildered shopper who wants to buy plates but also to make sure i'm okay bc im wailing a little bit in the kitchenware section' au" found [HERE](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com/post/117777352975/theapplepielifestyle-more-otp-hot-mess-aus).
> 
> and 
> 
> "you found me in a mall crying over a bowl of noodles i dropped and i s2g im not usually like this im just having a really weird week' au" found [HERE](http://theapplepielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/113482576611/hot-mess-otp-aus-pt-3-i-called-the-wrong-number).
> 
> :)


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